I am a night owl.
I find consolidation in lying awake at night - when no one else is around and the only thing that stirs outside are the wise old birds that glide through the darkened, star strewn sky with their wings outstretched in a moony fan of feathers.
I am comforted by the solace I can only seem to find when the Sun has dimmed. Only then can I fully collect my thoughts and file them into some, meagre, sense of order.
When I look up into the great abyss of darkness and light that our tiny little rock floats within, I am filled with a sense of awe I cannot find anywhere else. I stare up. Gazing into the infinite expanse of glittering stars and glowing planets. And each time I cannot quite begin to comprehend that we are the only consciousness out there. But then, at the same time, I am confounded that we actually exist; the likelihood of our being is nearly impossible. We are impossible.
That’s such an odd word: impossible.
Such a phrase should be its very definition. Why did we suddenly decide that something could never be achieved? We should be thinking that we could accomplish anything. It tends to be those who do so that use their talents and lives to the fullest. They are the ones who create the most impact on the world as we know it.
Maybe, once in a while, we ought to become one of them - just long enough so that that defiance of the impossible becomes embedded in our very being - a part of who we are as people.
My friend Katie and I went shopping today, you can see her post about it here.